


Overture

by medical_mechanica



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Because It's Fashion Week, Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, In Which Ardyn Is A Creep, In Which Ardyn Wears More Feathers, In Which Prompto is a Hole in National Security, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, When You're Bound by the Confines of Society and Class Instead of Cuffs, Workplace Sexual Harassment, do not try this at home, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medical_mechanica/pseuds/medical_mechanica
Summary: Set Pre-Kingsglaive.At an event for Insomnia's Fall Fashion Week, a photographer's assistant makes a new 'friend'.-A gloved hand gently gripped just above Prompto’s elbow.“Excuse me, my pet, but have we met?” A voice like velvet inquired behind him.Guests at upscale parties didn’t normally talk to him, or even look at him, really. Aside from the time he ended up making out with a waitress after a wedding, he never got approached by guests while working. At least, never sober ones.This left the photographer’s assistant blinking wordlessly up at the man, leaving the sound of glasses clinking and the low hum of chatter and distant guitar riffs bouncing off the walls around them. The band played their last song. The taller man met his gaze with a warm smile, regarding Prompto with equal curiosity. Anxiety knotted in the blond’s gut, knowing he still had to produce an answer, and in a professional setting.





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [invisibledeity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/gifts).



> Imagine Ardyn. Now with more feathers. Set the year prior to the events in Kingsglaive.
> 
> Heed the warnings.

A gloved hand gently gripped just above Prompto’s elbow.

“Excuse me, my pet, but have we met?” A voice like velvet inquired behind him.

The blond spun around, and was met with a face full of inky black feathers wrinkling up into his nostrils. He jumped back and rubbed at his face. He muttered a weak ‘sorry’ and tried not to sneeze. The last thing Prompto, a lowly photographer’s assistant, wanted to do was explode snot on a high fashionista at the signature cocktail party of Insomnia’s Fall Fashion Week. With his luck, he’d get it all over the long sleeved black button up he had to borrow from Noctis too. He gripped the DSLR strapped to his shoulder and shuddered. He’d never work again.

Looking up at the newcomer, the definitive ‘no’ on his lips died. Weird. He was just some older kind of guy, cut jaw and kind of scraggly, wispy maroon hair, but it felt like seeing an old acquaintance. Maybe he was some sort of art director he had seen online? They had definitely never met before.

The venue was a former industrial factory renovated into a vast gallery, with white chiffon curtains installed from ceiling to floor. An elaborate neon installation on the nearby wall radiated a fuschia glow. The inquirer was defined by a cold white light that fell off from the stage opposite the lounge area they occupied. Prompto blinked up at the man and gave his nose one final rub, eyes trailing back up the black feathers he had run into a second ago. There sat a mantle over broad shoulders, coming to frame a worn but ornately patterned scarf around the man's neck, bringing out the detail in the ruffles of his collar and waistcoat. Sure, maybe Prompto would have balked at the look passing by on the sidewalk, but he was about as eccentrically dressed as anyone else there. If anything, Prompto’s plain black dress clothes and unstyled hair made him look like he was going to a funeral instead of a fancy upscale fashion party, but he digressed. He was working. 

It was then that Prompto realized the towering figure had questioned him directly. Guests at upscale parties didn’t normally talk to him, or even look at him, really. Aside from the time he ended up making out with a waitress after a wedding, he never got approached by guests while working. At least, never sober ones.

This left the photographer’s assistant blinking wordlessly up at the man, leaving the sound of glasses clinking and the low hum of chatter and distant guitar riffs bouncing off the walls around them. The band played their last song. Exuberant partygoers clamored around the stage, leaving the lounge relatively empty. The taller man met his gaze with a warm smile, regarding Prompto with equal curiosity. Anxiety knotted in the blond’s gut, knowing he still had to produce an answer, and in a professional setting.

“Um, I’m not Explendesco’s normal assistant, but I have assisted for her before, so maybe you saw me then?” He answered as casually as possible, absentmindedly wondering if chatting could land him another job. Not that working with his current boss was a joke. Ms. Explendesco was a hard working, middle aged woman with 30 years of photography experience, and a widow of a member of the Crownsguard. Thanks to a word from his best friend, when her regular assistant was unavailable, Prompto had gotten to fill in over the past year. He shot a glance around the room then, looking for the photographer in question. He knew he should go look for her, but she had also given him an extended break. She wanted to go smooze, as the night was on the verge of winding down.

The stranger tutted and shook his head at Prompto’s response. “Ah, you see, I’ve not been here for some time, and I thought I spied a familiar face.” He took a step toward the blond, regaining his full attention. The assistant unwittingly shuffled back, but made it a point to nod. Maybe he was Altissan? The crowd about the stage cheered as the song ended, and within several moments, the most of them made a dash back to the bar.

There were far more people in the lounge then, and the air began to warm accordingly. 

“I, uh, guess I just have one of those faces, ha…” Prompto shrugged, trying not to make it obvious that he was trying to peer past the taller man into the crowd behind him. If the stranger was important enough to interrupt his day at this level of a party, there was no way to exit the conversation gracefully without worrying about pissing someone off. If he was some hotshot Altissan stylist, and he thought he knew him, Prompto was fine with that. Underlit by the neon and backlit by the filtered light reaching the top of his head as the crowd around them swelled, the stranger seemed to loom. Was it just him? 

A gust picked up in the room, factory windows open to the September air, and the jet feathers fluttered along a large shoulder piece that resembled a wing. The blond held back the urge to run his hand through them. More than that, Prompto wished he could snap a photo, and was working for himself, instead of just assisting. Speaking of which - where was the photographer?

A booming bassline picked up in all speakers throughout the venue as the DJ set began. Prompto groaned inwardly, knowing what was about to happen just seconds before it did.

The stranger leaned in, close enough to brush the roughness of his stubble against the blond’s still virtually hairless cheek. The assistant dropped his shoulders in an attempt to shrink, trapped between the fashion forward man, the throng of people, and the pulsing beat.

“What brings you here?” the voice in the blond’s ear sounded endlessly curious, accented just so..

Taking a deep breath, he craned his mouth to the other’s ear, and was just the slightest bit glad the taller man had leaned in enough where he didn’t have to tiptoe. 

“I’m assisting the photographer.” 

The maroon hair that filled his vision in that moment smelled distinctly, and not at all like the booze Prompto had expected to smell. The scent was more like an old library book dipped in motor oil and sandalwood. He shivered and crinkled his nose. It too was oddly familiar. He pulled back, giving the stranger another once over. The man caught it, quirking a brow and bringing a light touch back to the blond's elbow. It lingered for a beat before it fell.

“Oh? You must have quite the eye. Do you shoot as well?” 

The question threw the assistant. He didn’t know who the stranger was or why he had decided to strike up a conversation, but no one had ever asked him that before. The blond blushed and gripped at the bracelet under his right sleeve.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m not like ‘professional’ or anything’, but I totally shoot.” 

It was suddenly hot, and Prompto silently raged against the concept of sleeves before he proceeded to roll his up. While the blond huffed, amber eyes lingered on his now exposed bracelet, but only for the briefest of moments. The stranger smirked, shuffling slightly closer to the assistant as the crowd continued to shift in a parade of textures and fabrics.

“Shoot something.”

“What? Now?” Prompto gave the man a look. He couldn't have been serious. It wasn't his camera. The taller man gave a nod. Well, he could definitely take at least one shot and delete it after. The blond shrugged.

“Do mean a photo of you?” 

It was returned with a chuckle and the other shook his head.

“Show me what you see,” the stranger spoke into his ear, before giving him an expectant glance. Prompto sheepishly grinned in return, and an arm draped over his shoulders, turning him to face the floor. Cool blue light replaced the earlier white from the stage, casting the gossamer covered walls with streaks of pink and blue to violet. The massive bass from before had lightened back up to a crooning trance remix of a pop song Prompto liked.

Fortunately, the crowd was beginning let up a little at that point, and his boss was still nowhere to be seen. She would text him when he needed him again, anyway. Someone wanted to watch him work. Who knew when his next job when come? This was his chance.

Prompto inhaled deeply, and ignored the fingertips that lingered at his shoulders. He brought the camera body that had been dangling to his side up at the ready, and stepped out from the man’s touch. 

“Okay,” he looked for an opening in the room.

There were looks of all kinds he could capture, to be sure. Although his new acquaintance was decked out in feathers, leopard print seemed to be more the thing that season, and the majority of the room seemed to have stepped out of central casting. He recalled the newer suit that Noct’s advisor had started wearing, in the same style print, and quickly contained the slightest bite of envy that surfaced. That wasn’t what he wanted to document, though.

Prompto slowly paced into the crowd, and would not be able to notice the glint in the gaze upon his back. It was then laughter cascaded from his right, and the blond spotted his shot.

After a moment, he returned.

“Well?”

He heart pounded.

Another blush rose to his cheeks as he turned the viewscreen around; he was exposed. It was a candid portrait of a woman laughing, long dark hair swept up into a lazy bun, beside her and just out of focus, a male companion. The faintest pink glow filtered through the lens to catch her cheekbones, blue light contrasting through her hair and tinting the photo shades and hues of blue. Her eyes shone, smile gracing her face in what could be mistaken for nothing else but joy. 

What Prompto couldn't know was that she was a member of the Kingsglaive, namely Crowe Altius.

The feathered man beamed.

“Absolutely lovely, my dear. You’ve such a career ahead of you.” The older man’s tone dripped with affection, and he shared a glance with the blond. He almost appeared… proud? Smug? How the hell did they know each other? Prompto had to look away, blushing harder still. Despite his disdain for the use of the pet name, Prompto clung to the small kernel of validation that blossomed in his heart at the man’s words. 

He thumbed the delete button, but decided against it and instead shut off the camera.

Prompto really couldn't understand what made him so special, or at least why the man had decided to choose him of all of the people to waste time on. He wanted to give the man his card, except for that he never had a reason to consider getting any printed before, and he didn't want to ask for his contact information out of fear it would come off as too desperate. The assistant hoped that the stranger had warmed up enough to him to drop that hint, and found himself idly staring into the feathers where they seemed to melt into the man’s hair. An amused expression painted the aged features as he regarded the younger man’s stare in return.

“They’re real chocobo, you know.”

“Really?! No way. I've never even seen one in real life!” Prompto gushed, turning to study them in earnest.

Most of the light in the room had faded into hues of lavender and royal blue, and because the taller figure obscured the buzzing pink neon, the feathered cowl had a pink halo about it. Never had Prompto wanted to touch something more in that moment than he wanted to touch the gleaming chocobo feathers he had so crudely bashed into earlier. To his horror, he was just short in stopping himself from reaching out to touch them. Prompto grinned up at the man sheepishly, quickly dropping his arm. He didn’t expect the man to catch it, just by the bracelet, and slowly raise his hand into the feathered mantle at his shoulder. The blond could do little more than let out a gasp, and a tiny bounce in strictly contained excitement. 

The man’s face remained a curved smile that deepened a step or two upon the blond’s reaction. Prompto let the feathers run through his fingers, watching them gleam in the light. Before he could stop it, a grin broke out over his face. They were entirely black. He ran his fingers over the softer tufts instinctively.

“Do you dye them?” 

“No.”

“ - Black chocobos?! Are you serious?”

The taller man nodded knowingly in return, letting the grip on his arm fall. Their eyes met, and Prompto noticed then that he was next to leaning on his new acquaintance, his hand worked into the feathers where they met the taller man’s hair. Prompto was on his tiptoes. 

They blinked at each other. He gulped.

Then Prompto’s phone buzzed, several times in succession.

He jumped out of his skin. She was texting him. Finally.

He shot a quick glance over to the man’s face, who appeared relatively nonplussed by the development, and mouthed another ‘sorry’ before he could stop himself. Why was he apologizing? 

Opening her texts, he found himself looking at a photo of a doorway followed by “SW", which he could guess meant “south west”. The door he had never seen before. He sighed.

“Have you been summoned?” the man inquired.

“Yeah, but, I don’t exactly know where I'm going…” Prompto trailed off, pulling up his phone’s map. The stranger snatched the photo from his hand without warning, taking a look for himself. 

“Um, excuse me…” the assistant reached up for the phone, which was held just out of his reach as it was searched. The background photo was a dumb selfie of him and his best friend, and unfortunately unbeknownst to Prompto, this was not lost on the man going through his phone. Amber eyes lingered on the screen for a lengthy moment, and the blond looked on, mortified. 

“It appears to be the exit by the valet,” the stranger casually responded, allowing the shorter man reach the device. Prompto angrily pouted at him. Those feathers probably weren't even real.

“Oh, come now, I was just trying to be of some assistance.” The older man teased, and the blond did his damndest to not roll his eyes, pocketing the phone sharply. He couldn't figure this guy out. For every one thing that man did to make Prompto’s heart skip a beat, he did another that made him want to recoil and gag. If it weren't for the fact he could possibly be some high powered jerk off in town for Fashion Week, who, for all he knew, could make or break his career, the assistant would have stormed off in a huff that very moment. But Prompto wasn't anybody special, and he did want to work again. So, he collected himself enough to try and end the conversation on a good note.

“Thank you,” the blond replied, unmistakably terse. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of his exit when the stranger took a confident step toward him. Taking yet another step back, it was at that moment the assistant noticed his back was up against where a giant fold of fluttering white chiffon met brick, accompanied only by the fuschia glow and constant neon buzz from a meter or two away. The curtain successfully blocked most of the remaining crowd from view, leaving them, for the most part, isolated.

“Well, it appears our time together has run out,” the older man lilted. Reaching over, he threaded a lock of blond hair around his forefingers. Prompto froze, while his face burned as the hand lingered at his jaw, and he found himself glaring at those same jet black feathers he wanted to touch so desperately earlier. The taller man’s amused expression remained unchanged, like he was in on some sort of joke only he found funny. 

Another step forward, and the poor assistant could do little else beside cower further behind the curtain, then bathed in a deep familiar wine color. The blond bit back the urge to make a run for it, afraid of causing a scene. A feathered arm snaked it’s way around his waist, all but yanking his body closer still, and suddenly the scarves and ruffles were stifling. The assistant not-so-subtly tried to push back, burying his hands back into the crushing softness of the other’s mantle, but the taller form could not be moved. It occurred to Prompto that no job opportunity might be worth what he was experiencing in that moment. He peered up into a gaze that burned a hole straight through him. His breath caught.

“Hey, uh, what did you say your name was?” Prompto breathed, feeling the inevitable coming on. The stranger leaned in to close the distance between them, cupping his cheek affectionately.

“... I didn’t.”

The kiss that followed was as much of a relief as it wasn't. The older man’s mouth had come down on his own with a quickness, stubble scratching hard against his chin. The blond tried pushing back again, only to be shoved up against the wall with more force than he knew the other was capable of, followed by a thrust of the man’s pelvis. Prompto shuddered, gasping against the feathered man’s lips as his hands balled into fists. The hand at his cheek began to squeeze, and a tongue jammed into his mouth, coaxing his fourth. If this had been the stranger’s endgame their whole exchange, then so be it.

Prompto returned the kiss in that moment with just as much passion as he could muster, not so carefully biting at the stranger’s lower lip. He ignored the way his hands shook with rage at the situation, white knuckles gripping at the other man’s collar, channeling his anger into the movements of his mouth, all tongue and force. He ignored the way his pants felt tighter, and the way the looming figure proceeded to grind into him, the back of his head and bruising against the brick. He ignored it all, except the force of his lips crushing against the stranger’s. Conscious thought peeled away, and he willed the moment to pass. He felt a pinprick at his shoulder.

Fortunately for Prompto, his world at that moment went dark, and his body fell slack into the inky embrace.

Ardyn Izunia carefully studied the unconscious blond in his arms, tilting the lifeless head in his hand before moving to check under the bracelet. He tutted.

“I never do forget a face.” His tone was cold, before returning to saccharine, moving to support the limp form.

“I’m afraid we may have crossed paths too soon.” 

-

Prompto awoke the next morning at home with nothing in his head except pain. His head throbbed, full of static. His ears buzzed. What the fuck.

After a lot of concentration, he managed to check his phone. His stomach dropped at the number of missed calls and texts there were waiting for him. Some rando had approached him about something last night. Then he blanked. He remembered absolutely nothing. 

He closed his eyes in frustration and breathed deeply. Why couldn’t he remember the previous night? It was a really important night. What if he had done something wrong, or worse, stupid, and would never work in Insomnia again?

Panic gripped Prompto and he tried to keep from hyperventilating. Trying to breathe deeply, he checked his phone.

His photographer had caught a cab home, apparently she had been drinking. Her camera sat carefully next to him on his nightstand. He guessed he had done the same, by the good grace of the six. Strangely enough, he couldn’t recall what it was he had drank, until he remembered talking to some guy for a long ass time, and nothing after that. He racked his brain, terrified at the gaping hole in his memory. Lots of neon, and music, and talking - screaming? 

He felt totally drained, and not very sick to his stomach.

His heart sank. He never drank when he worked. Pending being abducted by aliens, that really only meant one thing. One really sucky thing.

Noctis had texted him a Justice Monsters meme and he hadn’t replied, so we was met with ‘U dead’ from last night, and ‘?’ again that morning. What time was it?

5pm.

He tried to jump up at the realization he lost an entire day, but fell right back down. With great effort, he managed to eventually text back a ‘no’.

And after another moment ‘just roofied D:’

 

Prompto couldn’t remember a time when Noctis had managed to finagle a trip over to visit him faster, Ignis in toe. By the end of that day, they all had agreed.

Starting the next week, Prompto would regularly train with Cor and Gladio as a member of the Crownsguard.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Explendesco' basically means 'glitter' in Latin.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it, even if Ardyn is a terrible asshole.
> 
> If you are interested in the set list:  
> 'Devil' - Ida Maria  
> 'Saturnz Barz, Cadenza Remix' - Gorillaz  
> 'Shake It Out, Benny Bennassi Remix' - Florence + the Machine (the one Prompto likes)  
> 'Move to the Ocean' - Brick and Moltar  
> 'Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite/I Want You (She's So Heavy)/Helter Skelter - The Beatles, LOVE


End file.
